


Poetic and Love

by levram



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levram/pseuds/levram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maker, even Dorian’s lips move elegantly. Twisting and puckering and forming those witticisms that Enzo has come to love so much, his lips moving expertly when they kiss as the rest of the world faded away. How they move together, how they hold each other, it’s like a song. The notes falling together perfectly on the scale. Neither of the two men would believe fate brought them together, but here they are and they will damn well enjoy every moment. "</p><p>In which Enzo Trevelyan is completely in love with everything that is Dorian ever since he saw him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetic and Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for @homovikings and @stevnbxcky on Twitter for the betas!  
> Follow me on Twitter if you would like :D @dorianspavus and also on Tumblr: buckynatasha

His first time seeing the mage left Enzo Trevelyan in a state of complete awe. He handled himself so gracefully and, despite the swiftness with which he moved, carried an indelible grace that had Enzo feeling like he was in a dream. He stared, unable to keep his eyes of the stranger… until the mage talked, snapping the Herald from his thoughts. They still had a fight to finish, after all. And Enzo was glad he would be fighting alongside him for years to come.

He was lucky enough to get to know Dorian. He wasn’t like all the other mages in Tevinter, a conclusion Enzo would have come to even if Dorian hadn’t repeated it. His facial expressions were interesting—he was always full of passion when he spoke of his homeland which contradicted Enzo’s assumption that Dorian loathed Tevinter. Dorian could talk about Tevinter for _hours_ ; the sun, brilliant and bright, and when he spoke of it Enzo felt like he was intruding on some intimate details. Dorian would sit out on the rooftop of his mansion and watch it set, completely relaxed with no worry in the world. Dorian had to admit it was always the best part of the day. He would talk about the people, the busy streets and crowded marketplaces. He would discuss the talent he had, where he learned it from, how proud he was to be from Tevinter. His eyes widened with excitement whenever he spoke about it, lips curling into a small smirk, but it was his _hands_ —those damned hands—that always, _always_ captured Enzo’s attention. Dorian gesticulated as he spoke, expressed himself with his hands, and it was enchanting to behold.

His beautiful hands. Enzo wanted desperately to hold them. 

Dorian was like a work of art. He knew that too. He wouldn’t let anyone forget it. “Look at this profile. Incredible, isn’t it? I picture it in marble,” he said one time during their travels. Enzo did, in fact, want to sculpt him. Wanted to paint him like the masterpiece he was. 

He moved so gracefully, and not just in battle, but during intimate moments as well. In battle, Dorian twisted and turned with such fluid grace that Enzo thought he might be a descendant of a water spirit. Dorian casted spells with such expertise, knowing he could not fail. And just like him, even the magic that was visible from his fingertips left Enzo speechless. Behind closed doors, he watched as Dorian arched his back in a perfect bow shape, gripped the sheets with those beautiful hands, rolling his head back, exposing the bruises on his neck that contrasted with his skin. Maker's breath, _his skin_. The soft tan contrasted so beautifully with the white of his robe, with the cream of Enzo’s sheets. Enzo wanted to trace Dorian with his fingers. He wanted to feel the tenderness of his skin, wanted to memorized every inch of him. Now, Enzo isn’t an artist but if he was? He’d paint Dorian in bold streaks of oil pastel. If he was a writer, he’d describe Dorian in synonyms of both _intense_ and _kind-hearted_. If he mastered an instrument, he’d dedicate songs to Dorian’s bravery and passion.

Often, Enzo imagined Dorian in gold. The bright metal that only heightened his beauty. Silk, too. The soft fabric clinging onto Dorian’s flawless form as Enzo watched him move, his curves sending Enzo into a dazed state. 

Maker, even Dorian’s _lips_ move elegantly. Twisting and puckering and forming those witticisms that Enzo has come to love so much, his lips moving expertly when they kiss as the rest of the world faded away. How they move together, how they hold each other, it’s like a song. The notes falling together perfectly on the scale. Neither of the two men would believe fate brought them together, but here they are and they will damn well enjoy every moment. 

Dorian knew how perfect he must look. He knew the affect he had on people. He hadn't expected Enzo to stay with him for as long as he did, though. That was new to Dorian. When Enzo said “I love you,” Dorian just stared, mind racing and unable to comprehend that someone actually _liked_ him for who he was, and not just for what he looked like. “You’re a good man,” Enzo then said. Dorian knew that as well, but it was very… different, though not unwelcoming to hear it from someone else.

Enzo would wax poetry on how strong Dorian was, how he would be the main protagonist of every story he starred in. He’d say nothing but good things about him because that’s what he deserved. He knew Dorian was kind. He knew Dorian had a good heart and he wanted everyone to know that.

Dorian truly was a work of art. Some won’t understand him, but those who do, will never forget him.

**Author's Note:**

> and there's my first fic ever! it was fun writing this :) send your love and stuffs x


End file.
